


Hell in your Eyes

by scribensdracones



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 00:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3361076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribensdracones/pseuds/scribensdracones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders agreed to a harmless dinner evening with Hawke- but instead, the Champion of Kirkwall decided to invite Knight-Commander Meredith as well. The events of this evening lead to unexpected consequences no one can control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Fanfic based on roleplay-threads on tumblr between the users Sanctumofjustice and Mereditx

Hawke was a terrible traitor. A man without understanding for his cause. Someone who shrugged everything off with a laugh, a joke, everything was a game to him, it seemed. But Anders never hated him. He tried to be understanding when Hawke delivered the scared mages into the hands of Templar Thrask. He understood why Hawke decided it was best to just have Feynriel made tranquil. He even didn't hate him when he delivered everyone to the swords of the templars in cold rage when they dared taking Bethany as hostage. Anders always tried to understand, to justify, to forgive, just so he wouldn't start _hating_ Hawke. But now he was done. This was a betrayal he could not understand, justify or forgive. In this very second, he **hated** Hawke. 

Her eyes were cold, he felt her stare burning on his skin and he felt ashamed of his robes, sitting next to Hawke in expensive finery and across Meredith in this elegant dress. She was an attractive woman, he realized. Relentless physical exercise made the years go very easy on her. But she was cold, so cold. Everything about her seemed cold. The icy blue of her eyes, her stare, her voice, the tone of her hair reminded him of cold gold, her pale skin. The flames of the fireplace painted everything in a warm light and yet they failed to heat up the room. He felt as if he was freezing. He had to get out of there. The food tasted like ashes in his mouth, the wine was bland to him, he could not enjoy anything for he was constantly worried that they might put him in irons soon enough- and then he'd be led to death like cattle, caught in a trap like a lousy little mouse. 

The three of them sat in the dining room of the Amell estate, rich dinner in front of them. Hawke and Meredith kept their conversation casual- as if all serious matters, everything that was of true importance, was avoided at all cost. No word of politics. No word of the rising tensions at the circle. They did not even speak of apostates, having one of them sitting at the same table as them, staring at his plate, wishing he could just go invisible so he could escape this ordeal. But there was no chance to get away- until they changed to the library, Hawke's hand on his back, pushing him softly as if he knew that Anders might try to seize the opportunity to leave as quickly as he could. No. Instead they entered the library where they would sit by the fireplace until Bodhan and Orana had removed the countless plates and served tea and cake. But not even cake was worth spending a single minute longer than absolutely necessary near Meredith who, for most of the time, seemed to see right through him. As if he was not there at all. 

Suddenly, Hawke excused himself and left the library. Some important matter he needed to take care of right away. As soon as the door closed behind him, Anders nearly bolted up, every minute of this evening having him tense up more and more. Just as he was halfway to the door, he heard Meredith's voice, addressing him directly for the first time this evening. “ _What is this farce, mage?_ ”

He stopped and finally turned around slowly. She'd risen from her cushioned seat as well and they nearly instinctively moved away from each other- brought the maximum distance between them. “I don't know, ask your precious Hawke,” Anders replied, brows furrowed in cold anger. But he couldn't let himself go. If Justice were to... but she was unarmed. Out of armor. Hawke left him with the most powerful templar of Kirkwall, like presenting her to him on a silver plate. And yet … they just observed each other, distrustfully, not certain whether to go for the kill or not. 

“Do not think I would have come tonight if I knew that he'd decide to have... more guests,” Meredith said and Anders realized that she'd expected a dinner for two with Hawke. Was there... anything? Maker, he didn't even want to think about it. “You'd have come with more templars to arrest me, wouldn't you?”, Anders spat scornfully, arms still crossed in front of his chest defensively. 

Meredith stood in front of the mirror now and Anders wondered how come she even dared turning her back on him. He could see her face in the mirror, their eyes met once in a while as she loosened up the stern bun of blond hair. It shone silvery and golden in the light of the fireplace, his gaze was distracted for a few seconds. With that damn hood on, he'd never realised how soft it actually looked. With that damned armor on, he'd never realised that... she was a woman too. Strong arms assembled golden curls back into a neat updo and she finally turned around to him. 

“Actually, I have come here today to talk about you, apostate,” she said, the last word spoke with such a harshness that it might as well have been a dagger thrown right at him. Anders frowned nervously, his discomfort rising with every step she took towards him. The fabric of the simple, black dress barely touched the floor. His back hit the bookshelf, nowhere else to go but in one direction- he took a brave step forward. This was about as close as they got the entire evening. 

“The templars know of your activities in Darktown. We were to decide tonight how to further proceed with you,” she continued. So Hawke and Meredith had secret agreements about him? He suddenly wondered whether Merrill was in the same danger right now. His palms were sweaty as he stared at Meredith. 

“And how will you _proceed_ with me?”, Anders asked with a sinister frown. His gaze was caught by her next movement, arms crossing in front of her chest. A gesture that usually would have given her a threatening stance. Her shoulders were narrower than he expected. They would have him arrested. They would lock him away at the smallest step in a direction they did not like, he knew Hawke well enough. Then he might as well... Suddenly, he moved forward, yanking her closer by the waist, her body bumped against his. Lips clashing, she was slack in his arms, unmoving lips, taken by surprise. Then, suddenly, she snapped out of her momentary petrification and cold hands went up to have callous fingers tangled in his hair, their grip nearly painful. But she did not pull away and his hands went up her back, irresolute, then down, to her hips, he tasted the salty iron of blood in his mouth, it was his, she'd bitten his lip. Maker. _Maker_!. Hawke might return any second. She might pull away any second and arrest him right away. But he knew... if his life was to be ruined by those two, he wanted to at least go ahead and _royally wreck it_ himself. 


	2. Chapter 2

Meredith kissed with inexperienced eagerness. There was neither skill nor passion in their kiss, merely the feral desire to tear the other apart. And yet they clung to each other like drowning, their mouths locked, tongues twisting, fingers clenching around blond hair, black fabric. Her stern bun was undone, golden waves spilling over her back. And in the midden of heated kisses, her body pressed against his, he realized that he felt _alive_. For the first time in years, his blood was boiling in his veins, his breath hitched as their lips parted. He'd pressed her up against a bookshelf by now, their faces so close he could feel her shaky breath on his mouth. He was hard. His heart thudded against his ribcage, his fingers twisted helplessly in the black fabric of her dress, his forehead against hers, he couldn't look into her eyes. He didn't dare to. He didn't want to see the cold judgement in her eyes. He didn't want to see anything at all, just feel her breasts pressed up against his chest with every heaving breath she took. In this one moment, she seemed so _human_ , a woman made of flesh and bone like any other. 

“... Back off,” she whispered, disrupting the blessed silence that held no awkwardness. Only very human insecurity. Anders obeyed nearly automatically. His heart did not beat so fast because of excitement and arousal anymore. It was fear, cold sweat and the realization that he made, once again, a terrible decision. And so he just took a few steps back, took his time to look at her face. Meredith's eyes were closed and she looked nearly vulnerable- then, she braced herself and returned to the minor where she started fixing her hair. He noticed her hands shaking slightly. The silence was weighing down on them. 

The door opened and Hawke entered, finding Anders and Meredith at opposite end of the rooms, avoiding eye contact, the tension was pretty much tangible and completely misinterpreted by the Champion. “I am sorry,” Garret started. “There were some... complications that _had_ to be taken care of. I suggest we proceed to dessert and tea?”, he asked, clasping his hands together. Anders slowly turned his head towards him. Garret had no clue.. but how could he even. He was surprised enough that no arrest had happened so far. Instead, Meredith just nodded and strided forwards, one hand on Hawke's upper arm. He could.... flee. But now that he knew that his own future was the matter of discussion this evening... Anders decided that this was too important to just miss, and so he followed them quietly. 

Actually, he always enjoyed tea and cake. Fresh fruits, sweet cookies, a wonderful cake. Bodhan and Orana really did their best for this entire evening, there was no way to deny it. However, he snapped out of his thoughts upon noticing that Hawke was addressing him. 

“Anders? I've been feeling kind of sicklish lately, any recommendations what to do? I mean other than stay in bed, obviously.”  
The mage frowned at this strange question, then gave it a moment of thought. “Some people would swear on echinacea, elfroot, fennel and mullein. Any signs of fever? Respiratory problems? Or if you rather have it with the mucosae, then you should use some more fennel and consider inhaling garlic paste.” It was easier to stay calm when talking about something he knew much about. And while he certainly was no herbologist, not everything could be solved with magic alone. Especially since many people did not really feel comfortable with it being used on them, such as Hawke. 

After a few other questions of highly medical nature (and he was sure that neither Hawke nor Meredith could actually follow him), he even managed to calm down. However, the evening would be more than trivial chatter and his officialese. 

“Have you reconsidered my proposal from our last meeting by now?”, Hawke finally asked, getting back to business. Proposals? So this was indeed not the first meeting, he supposed, assuming that it was about... him. And how they wished to _proceed_ with him. Meredith only nodded and set down her teacup. “While I completely acknowledge the validity of your points, Hawke, you know that I will never let the **wolves** preach to my good _sheep_. My duty is, in the first place, the _protection_ of the mages and the citizens... and this includes protecting them from dubious influences.”  
And so she called him a wolf? A dubious influence to the obedient sheep in her prison? Anders clenched his fists under the table and tried not to glare at her. “What points did Hawke raise?”, he asked, forcing his voice to sound as calm as possible. 

“You're a Grey Warden, and thus, the Chantry can't just go ahead and make you tranquil without the Wardens agreeing."  
“ _However,_ ” Meredith interrupted “, considering your status as deserter, law is not quite clear on how much say they are supposed to have. I am yet to decide whether _in dubio pro reo_ should apply here.”  
Anders felt nauseous. Tranquility... so they were already speaking about having him made tranquil. But Hawke's point sounded like some sort of.. protection. And yet he felt completely sick at the thought of depending on Meredith's goodwill. As if she'd ever have any for a mage. He felt nauseous- he needed to get out of there. 

“The Templars tolerate your presence and activities in Darktown... however Meredith wants to set what to do if we suddenly think you might decide that blood magic and demon-summoning is much more fun than being a healer. You know, the usual-”  
“-a danger to yourself and others,” Meredith interrupted him in sharp tone, deciding not to tolerate Hawke's casual tone for now. Anders already tolerated it for six years and he was sure he wouldn't miss his constant joking.

"I have made up my mind," Meredith declared and rose from her chair. "I appreciate the efforts you made to organize a very pleasant evening, Champion, but I think that this was enough for now- I bid you good night." Hawke rose from his chair, deciding to accompany her back to the Gallows. Anders was absolutely sure they would discuss even more once they were alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Anders' advice was googled. I would not trust his recommendations. Also, endless thanks for the positive reactions to the first chapter!
> 
> Things to look forward to in the next chapter: Meredith's PoV after this 'quiet' Dinnerevening


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke insisted on accompanying her to the docks where she'd take the boat back to the Gallows. No need, really, and yet Meredith appreciated the gesture. However, the blond woman stopped in the middle of the step, at the foot of the great stairs down into Lowtown. “Hawke. I would rather go to the Chantry now.” She needed to pray and Hawke had the decency not to ask any questions. The dark-haired man just nodded and turned around. The silence of the high walls always brought a certain peace to her mind and it surely was what she needed most.

“I know he's a mage. But you see, he's a... good man. Saves lives whenever he can. Only tries to help. Of course, this is against chantry law, but I am sure that...”, Hawke started, but Meredith interrupted him by raising her hand. No more talk of this.  
“I will consult the regulations and the chant again,” Meredith started calmly. “I acknowledge your points- and if you can keep this mage in check, I will see whether I can justify looking away.” 

Hightown was surprisingly calm that night, Hawke suddenly noted as Meredith assured him that she would see what could be done- which was already better than nothing, really. Some part of him understood why she would rather not give a clear answer right now. She merely decided to think about it, apparently. Did Anders already hurry back into the clinic? Probably. 

“Meredith, could you pl-”  
“Hawke, we are not on a first-name basis after what you pulled tonight.”  
“Oh Maker, bet that's what Anders will say too the next time I got an arrow in the knee. Knight-Commander, there is something... I want to show you.”

With critically furrowed brows, the knight-commander turned her gaze to Hawke and his outstretched hand. Papers. “What's this?”, she asked, accepting the pamphlet. Neat handwriting.  
“Anders' pride, one could say. His manifesto, propagating mage rights. Of course, I don't agree with him but... he poured effort into it. Lots of it. And even came up with some okay points, I guess.”  
Mage rights. Meredith disliked this term, made it sound as if they had none at all. She felt too tired to talk about this tedious topic right now and just decided to accept the draft without further discussion. “I will have a look at it when I have time.”

They stopped at the foot of the stairs up to the chantry, the impressive building looming over their heads. “I wish you a pleasant night, Hawke,” Meredith said, her voice rather dry and maybe even a little cool. She did mind that he invited Anders, after all. Unavoidable, seeing as these tensions had to end, one way or another. Maybe if she just were to see the human in him, rather than the mage... Maybe then things would calm down. He most certainly would prefer to be able to pay Anders a visit whenever he needed something stitched and patched up, rather than go through the tedious process of traditional healing. Even though the thought of just staying in bed all day was quite pleasing. Better than being constantly busy. "Yeah. Good night," he muttered absent-mindedly. Maybe her decision to think about it would be good enough for the time being. 

The inside of the Chantry was pleasantly warm after the cool evening in the streets of Hightown. When was the last time she entered this place not as the Knight-Commander of the Templar order but as an ordinary person? Being here without the armor and the power of the rank made her feel oddly small in front of the holy Prophet Andraste. Meredith knelt down silently, hands clasped together for a prayer but her mind could not find the words of the Chant. She wished someone would sing so maybe a sweet voice would lift the blurry haze inside of her head. If only the Grand Cleric would see her like that... looking like a woman who longed for a man, rather one who needed no one but the Maker. Confused and unsettled, she felt ashamed for whatever thoughts made her agree to the invitation and thinking back to the events in the library made her feel nauseous and appalled by herself. She should have pushed the apostate away. Arrest him immediately, he was a mage on the run after all. Now her head was full of regret and reproach and quiet rage at Hawke for putting her into such a situation, rage at this apostate for daring to raise hand to her and finally a deep, boiling rage against herself for letting all of this happen. 

"Maker..." Guide my hand. Meredith wanted to hear the chant to cover up the noise in her head. 

But no song could ever be as sweet as the song of the sword, waiting for her in the Gallows. Red and warm and soothing, it would wrap its misty arms around her mind and coddle her in a comforting haze, blur out this entire world. Only this one song and the chant should ever matter.


End file.
